A long, cold winter
by GraceBe
Summary: Set between the Christmas Special and S6E1. After a tragic event Isobel questions her decision to stay away from Lord Merton... that's the worst summary I've ever written, but I don't want to give away too much! Enjoy and let me know what to think!


**This one shot is dedicated to my lovely beta Gemenied who demanded some Isobel & Dickie action! I aim to please and the following pages are the result.**

 **Enjoy and let me know what you think.**

 **A long, cold winter**

 **Downton Hospital, evening**

It was a cold and snowy evening in January when Isobel, wearing her new favourite evening attire, strolled into Dr Clarkson's office in the village hospital. A nurse was standing at the cabinet and took out a small bottle. She turned when she heard steps and gave Isobel a warm smile.

"Mrs Crawley! I'm afraid the Doctor isn't here. He is making a house call."

Isobel returned the smile. "As a matter of fact I'm not searching for Doctor Clarkson," she explained. "I must have left some papers here which I will need tomorrow morning for a meeting with the board members. Have you seen them?"

The nurse shook her head. "I'm afraid not. I would love to help you searching for them, but I need to go back to the ward."

"Never mind. I'll have a quick look around and be gone!"

"All right. Have a nice evening, Mrs Crawley," the nurse said on her way out.

"You too," Isobel returned and let her eyes roam the office. As always everything was neatly arranged. And there was no sign of a pile of files. She had already searched her small desk, but they hadn't been in there, so the doctor's office was the only option left.

She looked at his desk, but the desktop was empty and she didn't want to open his drawers. She sighed and decided to come back early in the morning. She didn't have the time to wait for him, because she was supposed to have dinner at the Abbey. The car to pick her and Violet up would soon be at Crawley House.

Isobel sighed and looked through the window. Outside the snow was falling more heavily and she heard the wind howling around the house. They hadn't had that much snow in years and she didn't look forward to go outside again. She really should have called the Dowager to tell her to pick her up at the Hospital. Now she had to walk home through the snow storm.

Unhappy with her situation, she turned up her collar and decided to leave. She had just reached the door when the noise of rushed steps and mixed up voices reached her ear. She knew all this only to[o] well. It was the sound of a medical emergency. The noises grew louder and the front door opened. Two men were carrying a man on a stretcher inside.

The man wore a chauffeur's uniform and a cold fist closed around Isobel's heart. Every time she saw the victim of a car accident, she froze inside. Memories of Matthew's death filled her mind and made her numb.

"What happened?" she asked one of the nurses.

"The streets are so icy, Ma'am," the nurse replied. "He lost control over the car. But it doesn't seem so bad... his leg's probably broken."

Isobel followed the small group into the treatment room where the man was carefully heaved onto a hospital bed. Finally having a good look at the man's face she gasped. There was a small trickle of blood that ran from his temple over his cheek. It was a face she knew.

"Porter!" she exclaimed. "What happened?"

The chauffeur turned his head; confused to be addressed by someone other than the nurses around him, but when he recognized Isobel, he put on a brave smile.

He was Lord Merton's chauffeur.

"Mrs Crawley," he said in a cracking voice. "It was the bloody snow! The roads are icy."

She almost smiled upon his curse. "Where is his Lordship?" she asked in alarm and looked around. He was nowhere to be seen.

"I don't know, Ma'am, but I think he's only got a scratch."

"He was in the car?" she asked tonelessly and swallowed. The coldness inside her was forgotten, because her heart was now beating uncontrollably in her chest.

"Take good care of him," Isobel told the nurse and quickly headed for the door.

"We've already got someone to get hold of the doctor," the nurse told her, but Isobel didn't hear her any longer. If Dickie had been the car he must be around here somewhere. She needed to see he was fine. She needed to see he was alive and walking and... alive. Then she would go home to wait for the Dowager to pick her up.

But Isobel didn't even have to go outside to find the Lord. She met him in the hallway where a nurse was taking off the handkerchief Dickie had been pressing against his temple. A wave of relief was flooding Isobel when she saw, that his injuries seemed to be minor indeed.

"Please, no fuss!" he said to the nurse.

"Please, mylord, follow me into Doctor Clarkson's office," the nurse said. "He will look after you as soon as he is here."

"I would rather he took care of my chauffeur," Lord Merton argued mildly. "It's really just a scratch."

"Dickie!" Isobel hastened towards him. "What happened?"

Surprised Dickie and the nurse turned their heads. "It's all right," he said quickly when he saw her pale face. "Just a small accident."

"I'll take Lord Merton to the doctor's office," Isobel told the nurse. "You can go and help the others."

Whether the nurse was surprised or not, she didn't show it. "As you wish, Ma'am," she said and left for the ward.

"Come with me," Isobel ordered gently and took his arm. Dickie obeyed and asked, "What about Porter?"

"Probably a broken leg. He'll be fine," Isobel answered. "But now I want a look at your injury. You're bleeding."

She led him into the office, closed the door, and made him sit on the cot by the wall. "Isobel, it's nothing," Dickie repeated a little annoyed. She ignored his protest and ordered, "Take off the coat. There's blood on the collar."

"Yes, Doctor Crawley." He sounded amused and she gave him a look that caused him to clear his throat. It was apparent that she wasn't in the mood for jokes. He quietly obeyed her orders while she opened the cabinet and took out a bottle of antiseptic solution. Then she left the room and returned after one minute, now wearing an apron over her evening gown.

She took a look at the wound at his temple. She felt more relaxed now. This wound was something she could deal with. He wouldn't die. He was safe.

"Do you feel dizzy or sick?" she asked.

"No."

"Good. This will sting a bit," she said while she carefully tended to the wound. Silence fell over the room while she cleaned the wound. A few times she heard him suppressing a hiss and it caused her to smile at him for the first time.

"You'll live," she assured him.

"You know they say it's good that women are having the children and not men. If we were left in charge, the world would be a lonely place."

She applied a small compress and secured it with a bandage.

"There you are," she said. "Tomorrow you'll be as good as new." She gently cupped his face with her hands and took a much longer look at him than was strictly necessary. A feeling of tenderness overwhelmed her when she realized how easily he could have died tonight. Another person in her life who she could have lost forever.

"What are you doing here, Isobel?" he asked lowly when a sad expression crossed her face. The spell was broken and she released his face. She blinked her tears away and turned away from him.

"I don't know what you mean," she said busying herself with the apron.

"Isobel!" She swallowed and tossed the apron onto the next chair. "Look at me."

Now he was the one who making demands and just to prove to him that she wasn't afraid she faced him again.

"I don't understand you," he said, once she was looking him in the eyes. "You're not a nurse any longer. There's no need for you to take care of some minor wounds – even if the man in question is your former fiancé."

"I just wanted to be helpful," she replied with reddening cheeks. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Dickie crooked his unhurt eyebrow. "Are we?" he asked doubtfully.

"It's what we should be," she answered.

"You know, the way I see it we've never been friends," he said after a while. The rawness in his voice got to her on a level she hadn't expected. She knew he was right. They had been engaged. They had wanted to spend the rest of their lives together as a married couple. For better or for worse. Yet, she had broken it off, because she had feared "the worse" might rule their life together.

"And what keeps us from being friends now?" she asked, moving towards him again. "Isn't it better to be friends now than looking back in bitterness?"

"I'm not bitter," he answered matter-of-factly. "I miss you. If I had known it only takes a small head wound to get your undivided attention I would have hurt myself much earlier."

"That's not funny," she scolded him angrily. "You could have been dead!"

He reached out for her and pulled her against him. "But I'm not. I'm alive and so are you," he mumbled against her mouth. He didn't kiss her; he was holding her close while his hands lay against her hips. She could back away, if she wanted. She knew he would release her instantly, if she demanded, but she didn't. Suddenly her head was spinning and she wanted to feel him. She wanted him to prove [to] her that they were indeed alive. She wanted him. And even more than that, she wanted him to want her.

Her heart was racing in her chest, she smelled his cologne that had mixed with the iron smell of blood and the antiseptic she had applied to his wound. She was indeed alive and so was he. Her eyes were glued to his eyes mouth and she leaned in for a kiss. Her body was touching his, melting against him, pressing her chest to his. Even before he could demand it her lips parted for him, allowing him access.

At first his kiss was slow and deep, almost careful. He tasted, tempted, and gauged how far she was willing to go. He had always treated her with the utmost respect, but the longer the kiss went on, and the more she lured him, the more he seemed to lose his self control.

His tongue dared her into a greedy duel that sucked the breath out of her lungs. Her arms sneaked around his neck, wishing for his hands to be bolder, as they seemed to be stuck on her hips.

She hadn't felt the need for a man in years; she had gotten used to live and sleep alone, had even reached a level of contentment. Once during the war in France she had met a man she could have loved, but she had been called home, before anything could come of it. She hadn't looked back though, because her son had needed her.

Dickie Merton was the first man who awoke her desire and this kiss was unlocking it. God, she wanted to take him to her house, to her bed. She wanted him to make love to her, wanted to feel him deeply inside her, wanted her body to be torn apart by lust and fulfilment.

His grip upon her hips became harder, as if he was trying to keep himself in check. Her right hand closed around his wrist, gently caressing it, which caused him to loosen his tight grip.

A cold draught was suddenly filling the room, causing them to break apart. The door was open and Doctor Clarkson was staring at them. Isobel herself blushing and turned away.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I think Lady Grantham is waiting for you outside," his voice was cold, colder than the merciless winter outside. Her desire faded, as if she had just bathed in a pool of icy water.

"Thank you," was all she could utter. Dickie quickly slipped into his coat. He was just as uneasy as Isobel was and did his best to avoid Isobel or the Doctors' eyes.

"How is my chauffeur?" he asked.

"He'll live," Clarkson informed him sourly.

Isobel fled the room to get her coat. When she returned the Doctor was gone, but Dickie was still there waiting for her.

"I'm sorry," he said lowly. "Please, forgive me."

"It wasn't your fault," she said. "It was me."

"I love you, Isobel. Say, you'll rethink your decision and become my wife."

She closed her eyes and wished the last half hour had been nothing like a dream.

"Please, Dickie..." She loved him too, she wanted to be close to him, but it would never work out between them. Not as long as his children were against her. She couldn't face an eternal war with his family. It would make them both unhappy.

"You know it won't work," she said. "You must see it's not a good idea."

"And what about what happened just now? I know you love me, Isobel!"

"It surely was a mistake," she said. It had made everything just worse. Now they weren't just two people who had broken off their engagement. Now they were lovers who hadn't consummated their relationship.

She didn't dare to look at him. She feared she couldn't stay firm when she looked at his beloved face again.

"Excuse me, please. I have to leave. Cousin Violet is waiting for me."

She forced herself to move away from him. Her feet carried her out of the office, through the hallway and outside, where she was greeted by the cold of the English winter. The wind was harsh and the snow fall was heavy. It was indeed going to be a long, cold winter.

 **~The End~**


End file.
